Mad Max: The Legend
by MadMarc
Summary: A W.I.P small story of Max attempting to retrieve and repair his destroyed interceptor, following the events of Fury road. Give me feedback and any other sort of advice you think could work well for the story :)


The burning heat of the sun pounded down on Max's neck, small grains of sand and dust skipped across the baron Wasteland floor around him as he carried a large, dusty, beat up Bergen which he had managed to discretely take as he left the Citadel the previous day, attached to the Bergen, connected by steel chains was 2 empty Jerry cans, they clung together occasionally, making a lonely sound as Max trudged through the boiling sand of the Wasteland. He roamed the Fury Road in hopes of retrieving his prize possession, his beloved V8 Interceptor. Max had travelled the dead outback in that car for however long it's been since the world had been killed, and it was a necessity that he had to retrieve it. Either way, when he thought about it, he didn't have too much of a choice, it was take the risk of finding the wreckage of his car and possibly repairing it, or travel for days, perhaps weeks under the scorching power of the sun and maybe facing certain death. Plus, he'd come so far already, he had already passed the wreckage of the once powerful War rig in the Canyon, the burnt body of 'The People Eaters' Limousine, so from what he can remember it was too much farther to go. As Max passed various car wreckages and parts from the high speed chase he was involved in yesterday, he would examine them and decide whether or not it any of the parts may be useful to him, if they were, he would shove inside the bergen, which was already filled with various tools. He would also check for any leftover Guzzoline inside the broken vehicles, siphoning any he could get into the Jerry cans.

Max marched through what he supposed was the last stretch of salt before he would find the broken body of the Interceptor. He suddenly stopped in his tracks, dropped his heavy Bergen and Jerry cans and squinted into the distance, he just managed to spot the slight glare and shine of what looked like a chrome body of a car. His eyes widened as he pumped with adrenaline and excitement, he turned and heaved the Bergen onto his back, and began to run towards the image in the distance. He ran for about 3 minutes straight and he come close enough to finally make out that it was the interceptor, it was his beloved wasteland war machine, he was finally reunited with it. He slowed down and finally stopped and fell to the floor in what was a mix of exhaustion and relief, a few meters away from the wreckage. He lay there to catch his breath, and began to sigh and chuckle with happiness to himself. Max returned to his feet and patrolled the car, observing the damage. he could also smell a horrid stench coming from the car, he looked in the drivers seat and saw the burnt, mangled body of the war boy they called 'Slit'. Max continued to scan the car with a slight look of distaste. He hated the way the war boys had customised it, the suspension, the chrome body, everything about this new version of the Interceptor annoyed him.

Max wasted no time, he had to get to work if he wanted to return the interceptor to a functioning state, he began be ripping off the drivers seat door with a crow bar. He then gripped the crispy, slimy body of Slit and slinged it away from his workspace. He wiped down the insides of the seats with a dirty rag, as he didn't really want excess blood, or body parts left in his car.

Max moved around the car, removing and or replacing various pieces of flaring metal. As Max kneeled to begin work on the wheels, he heard the faint noise of bike engines, he spun round quickly and pulled his sawn off shotgun from his holster, holding it by his side at the ready, he continued to spin around frantically as he tried to find the source of the noise until he finally spotted it, coming from the south, he made of three dots, approaching him with speed. Max's eyes widened and he threw all his gear into the bergen and launched the rucksack into the remains of the interceptor in order to somehow conceal it, he then clambered onto the top of the Interceptor, he wasn't going to give up on getting it back now. He checked his pockets, he no more shotgun shells, only the two that were already loaded within the weapon, he mumbled to himself and grunted, showing his teeth in a fierce, defensive way. This was his property, and there was no way he was going to let it go easily.

The 3 dots came close enough that Max could now make out they were Bikes, fully kitted with spears, arrows, a few grenades, and a pistol onto the side of each one. The bikes then began to circle the interceptor in a synchronised fashion, creating a dust cloud, skewering Max's vision. Max covered his eyes, but it was no use, he could hear the loud engines of the bikes roar, he could smell the awful stench of burning Guzzoline, and he could hear the bikers whaling and hooting in excitement around, perhaps they were scavengers, they're normally excited to kill lonesome wonderers like Max, like a bunch of wild animals.

Max reached his boiling point, he fired off a shotgun round in what he thought was the general direction of wherer one of the bikes were, he spun round, attempting to find another.

"WOO!" one of the bikers cried "He's lively, he's very lively!"

"He's even got the shotgun!" Another one yelled in excitement.

Max noticed what the biker has said and frowned in curiosity, what does he mean by that he wondered?.

He could see one of the bikes circling him, and he went to fire of another shell, but the round has sizzled out on him, Max growled in anger and opened the barrel, removing the smoking cartridge. Before Max could finish though, he felt a pull on his leg brace, he looked down to see a Harpoon connected onto the main frame of the brace.

"What the-" Max mumbled, but was swung off his feet and pulled off the roof of the interceptor and met the dusty ground with a hard connection. Max lost grip of his shotgun and dropped it. The bikers had stopped circling, 2 of them rushed over to Max and turned him onto his front, as he tried to escape the harpoon began to pierce his skin, sinking deep into his calve, Max cried out in pain.

"HURRY UP! Check him, CHECK HIM!" One of the bikers yelled to the third biker on the bike which had harpooned Max.

The biker hopped off his vehicle and waddled over to Max quickly, handcuffed both his hands and feet, preventing Max from moving at all. The biker went on to cut open Max's leather jacket and undershirt, revealing his tattooed back, the biker began reading the inverted writing on Max's back, sounding very excited while doing so. Max was filled with rage, his veins popping, but he had no way of escaping this.

The Biker read, slightly whispering in a frantic tone.

"Day 12045 - ht 10 hands - 180 pounds - No Name No lumps No Bumps Full life Clear - Two good eyes No Busted limbs - Piss OK Genitals intact - Multiple Scars Heals fast - O-PLUS HI-OCTANE - UNIVERSAL DONOR - Lone Road Warrior Rundown - on the Powder Lakes V8 - No guzzoline No supplies - ISOLATE PSYCHOTIC - Keep Muzzled"

"It's him! It's gotta be him!" The other biker yelled.

"How can we be sure!?" Another asked.

"How much more evidence d'ya need, you daft skag!?" One of them hissed.

"He's got the gun, he's got the car, he's got the clothes, for Angel combustions sake, he's even got the damn tattoo, Rat!"

"So…we finally got him, Walt!?" The smallest biker asked.

"WE GOT HIM!" The one who read the tattoo screeched.

The biker then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pair of bolt cutters, and went onto cut max free from the handcuffs, and harpoon, which by this time had almost completely destroyed Max's much needed leg brace. The other two bikers released their grips. The 3 bikers stood next to each other in a line, all with a large grin which spread across their face. They watched and observed as Max rose to his feet, turned and began to walk towards them with a limp, shaking off remaining pieces of metal frame which hung from his leg, blood flowed down his leg from the large gash which had been created, his face was fuelled with anger.

"Oh Road Warrior, we have been searching so long for-" Before the biker could finish, he was knocked out cold by a right hand from Max, the other two stood in awe. Max glared at the bikers.

He gripped them both by their necks.

"Who are you?" He grumbled in question, his eyes like fire.

"The name's, Rat!" wheezed the smallest biker, looking eager to introduce himself. He had a slight lisp and was quite stocky and muscular, he also had a ragged bowl cut and a thin, scruffy beard. His two front teeth seemed to be the only teeth left in his mouth. "That's uh-"

"I'm Kix!" Said the other whilst attempting to nod his head, interrupting Rat. Kix was slightly taller than Rat, he had a deep, croaky voice and was also missing his left eye and 2 fingers from his left hand. He had hair similar to Max's and a long goatee, Kix was also well built, with a large, puffed out chest.

Max stared at the two with a frown, and let them both go. He then changed his focus to the awakening biker on the ground.

"And him?" Max asked while pointing.

"Walter" Said the third biker as he rose to his feet, rubbing his head.

Walter was extremely thin and tall, he wore no shirt, only a pair of shorts and boots, he was clean shaven, had no hair and no eyebrows. He also wore a pair of dog tags around his skinny neck.

"Road warrior, we are so happ-" Walter began but was shortly interrupted by Max.

"Shut up" He ordered, Walter nodded his head quickly. Max was now realising the situation and circumstances he was being faced with. He kind of liked it, it reminded him of his past life of being an MFP officer, giving commands and that.

"So" Max said, noticing that Rat had picked up Max's Shotgun "What do you want from me?" Max grunted, while snatching his weapon from the small man's hands.

"We wish to assist the Legend, the myth, the-the...Road Warrior" Kix answered, bowing once again.

"We've been searching for you!" Said Walter.

"We want to help you!" Rat added, holding in his hands 2 brand new shotgun shells, presenting them to Max.

Max grunted, and took the shells from rats scarred little hands, and loading them back into the double barrel of his shotgun. He turned back to the wreckage of the Interceptor. A slight grin grew on his weathered face, he then returned back to staring at the bikers.

"You got tools?" He asked.

"Yes" They all said, synchronised, nodding in agreement.

"Well, here's how you're gonna help" Max said while turning and pointing to the interceptor.


End file.
